There’s an Arab in my carpet,
that no one else appears to see,
I catch his fearsome countenance,
when I sit down to pee.
This Taliban of the toilet,
robes of flowing powder blue
is hidden in the Wilton weave,
as I contemplate the view.
It’s fair to say he’s not always there,
perhaps he’s hiding in the Kush,
underneath the bog roll holder,
if I’m ever I’m in a rush.
I’ve been really rather worried,
and I know it’s not the norm,
to have visitors in the boogaloo,
when I start my desert storm.
However I know his days are numbered,
no matter what his evil wiles,
my last gasp push will flush him out,
I’m going to lay some tiles.
© Graham Sherwood 2009
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